


An Act of Compassion

by triste



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triste/pseuds/triste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Still, it was nice to have a bit of company. Chatting to someone who, while not actually believing in magical creatures, didn’t exactly deny their existence was all the more enjoyable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Act of Compassion

**Title:** An Act of Compassion  
 **Author:** Triste  
 **Fandom:** Hetalia  
 **Pairing:** Iceland/England  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Status:** Complete  
 **Disclaimer:** Not mine

 **A/N:** In January 2009, Iceland ran an appeal on the Bylgjan radio station to donate clothing made from pure Icelandic wool to elderly people in Hull, England, who couldn't afford their fuel bills, to stay warm through the winter. 

(The BBC News article can be [read here](http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/humber/7859635.stm) for further details.)

~~

For once, the weather seemed to have taken everyone by surprise. Wet and mild winters had become the norm over recent years, so for temperatures to dip well below freezing and bringing unprecedented amounts of snow along with it led to the whole nation being caught off guard.

It was embarrassing to say the least for England when everything ground to a halt. France, never one to miss an opportunity to mock and gloat, made sure to have a good laugh at England’s expense. He’d found it hilarious to discover that a few inches of snow had been able to accomplish what Germany at his worst had not, by stopping London’s public transport from running as it should.

Listening to France crowing over the phone and demanding to know where his Blitz spirit had disappeared only succeeded in making England’s bad mood worse. There was one thing France did well, and that was harassing people. His talent for being childish and annoying was second to none. Frustratingly, England couldn’t even get over on the Eurostar to make good on his threat to beat France up the next time he saw him. Voodoo dolls had no effect, so it wasn’t like he could make himself feel better by sticking pins into effigies of the bearded git who delighted in bringing misery and suffering to his life.

The only thing he could do was wait for the snow to clear up, but even then England doubted he would get the chance to wreak his vengeance. France would have already anticipated his arrival and buggered off to Spain’s place to hide. 

England considered it a shame that his days as a gentleman pirate had come to an end. Back then, violence and brute force used to solve all his problems. Foul language on its own wasn’t enough to intimidate his enemies into submission anymore, not that it stopped England from using it frequently anyway. 

Picturing himself yanking out the hairs on France’s chin with a pair of tweezers one by one as France cried and pleaded for mercy made England brighten just a little as he shuffled into the kitchen to put the kettle on, but the view from the window soon chased off his amusement.

The snow was starting to get depressing. Worse still was the cold that came with it. “For the sake of saving money” had always been Switzerland’s mantra, and it was one that England often agreed with. That was why he chose to wrap up warm by wearing layers of clothing both inside the house and out.

Of course, it would help if the government weren’t so foolish by selling off their gas supplies in the summer when nobody needed them much, only to buy them back at a ridiculously inflated price in the winter. Because of that, there were many pensioners who couldn’t afford to heat their houses properly. 

It was sad and it was scandalous, but there wasn’t much England could do about it.

Or so he assumed.

The sound of the doorbell ringing made him scowl at first, figuring that it might be France coming to laugh at him again, but the more England thought about it, the less sense it made. Contrary to popular belief, France wasn’t stupid. He preferred to make fun of England at a safe distance, preferably over the phone or via the internet where he couldn’t get hurt, so for him to turn up on England’s doorstep where righteous retribution could so easily be served to him didn’t make sense.

The only other person who tended to appear uninvited was America, but he was even less of a likely candidate than France. England hadn’t seen him since the end of November, nor would he probably clap eyes on America in person until the spring. England couldn’t imagine America making a surprise visit when his dislike of winter was so vocal and obvious.

Process of elimination over, England was left with no idea as to who it could be. Curious, but slightly annoyed that whoever it was hadn’t called in advance to let him know they were coming, England went to greet his mystery guest. 

“Oh,” he said, opening the front door and feeling somewhat baffled to see Iceland standing outside. “Hello.”

Iceland didn’t bother returning the pleasantry. He simply frowned and shoved a parcel into England’s arms. “For you,” he said bluntly. 

England glanced down at the parcel he’d been given, still confused but unwilling to forget his manners. “You’d better come inside. I was just about to make some tea. Would you like some?”

Iceland shrugged. England took it as a yes.

Once Iceland was settled in the sitting room, England returned to the kitchen to finish his task. When the tea was ready, he served his guest first. Iceland accepted his refreshment with more good grace than he’d shown when giving England his gift, but it still didn’t answer the question as to why he’d brought along such a thing in the first place. Christmas had been and gone, not that they were close enough to warrant the exchange of presents anyway.

It was all rather bewildering.

The two of them drank their tea in silence, England’s parcel lying on the arm of his chair until Iceland finished his drink and pointed at the parcel.

“It’s about time you opened that. It looks like you’ll be needing it.”

England did as he was told, setting his cup aside and breaking the wrapping apart. It contained a thick woollen jumper, created by hand if England’s guess was right. 

“I made it myself,” Iceland continued. “You’d better be grateful.”

“I am,” said England, as touched as he was taken aback. “It’s terribly kind of you. Thank you so much.” He stroked his fingers gently over the garment, taking in the feel of the wool and the skill that had gone into creating it. “It truly is beautiful.”

Iceland blushed. “Don’t get the wrong impression. It was my boss’s idea. You guys obviously can’t be trusted to look after the elderly properly, so we ran an appeal over the radio to help. You’re lucky my citizens are generous. They wanted to help the old folk here stay safe from the cold.”

Somehow, hearing that was worse than any derogatory comment France could have thrown. England sighed, turning his gaze back to the jumper. “You’re right,” he said. “They are generous. I’m sure anyone who receives a gift as wonderful as this would agree. Your people are caring. More so than mine, apparently.”

“It’s not your fault,” Iceland told him gruffly. “You’re just unfortunate not to have a boss as good as mine.”

“He is trying his best.”

“He could be doing better.”

England smirked ruefully. He didn’t want to argue. Fighting was what he did with France. Iceland was too gracious to deserve the same treatment.

“Thank you once again,” England said, folding the jumper neatly and placing it in his lap. “It really is a useful gift. I’ll be sure to treasure it.”

Iceland went even redder. “It’s nothing too impressive,” he replied, sounding awkward at England’s praise. “But it’s good that you appreciate it.”

He blanched when England offered to begin repaying his compassion with a plate of scones, insisting England’s words alone were enough. England nodded in reluctance, although he would have liked it if Iceland had at least tried one before refusing them. Still, it was nice to have a bit of company. Chatting to someone who, while not actually believing in magical creatures, didn’t exactly deny their existence was all the more enjoyable. 

Letting Iceland know that he could visit again whenever he wanted earned England an almost-smile in return, as did asking him to give his regards to Norway (but he did tell England in no uncertain terms to “get stuffed” when asked to do the same for Denmark). 

Good guests were what made the bad weather more tolerable, and England was sorry to see Iceland leave. The jumper turned out to be as warm as he’d expected it to be when he tried it out, and it fit him perfectly. Even though he’d already expressed his gratitude, England decided to write Iceland a letter to thank him one more time for the present. 

It was a nice way to pass the time before going off to hunt down France.

 

End.


End file.
